


is was and will be

by degradedpsychotic



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, If You Squint - Freeform, aeriseph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/degradedpsychotic/pseuds/degradedpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lifestream was a place of peace. He is so relaxed, so warm, so comfortable. The meadow is warm. Her dress is as pink as her cheeks. Time was an illusion. </p><p>"It's been a long time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	is was and will be

**Author's Note:**

> Tense usage is all screwed up on purpose. This is more of a surrealist sort of thing, I guess. There is a plot though, if you squint.

The Lifestream was a place of peace. It was like soaking in a warm bath, steam caressing his face to keep him warm. A bath on a boat, maybe, with the gentle swaying motions, taking him away from the harshness of the world. He is so relaxed, so warm, so comfortable.

And then his bare feet press into tall grass, toes digging into soft soil as his eyes open to take in the area around him. No bath, no boat, just flowers. An endless field of yellow flowers blooming amongst green grasses to contrast the blueness of the sky. The wind was warm and fragrant, caressing the dry skin that the steam had once touched. He felt as if he were merely floating there, his weight so light and his shoulders so free. And yet… he had no desire to move.

“It’s been a long time.”

The air changed, warping and solidifying. There was a woman there, a dark braid down her spine, her bare back to him. He didn’t remember when she had appeared, and yet it seemed as if she had simply been there forever.

“It’s been a long time since the Planet has given you rest.”

Rest? From what?

“How do you feel?”

“Well.”

It was natural. Speaking to her was as easy as breathing, with no forethought. He simply thought the words and they came out.

“Who are you?”

Her head turned, giving a smirk over her shoulder as a slender finger covered her lips in a silencing gesture. “That’s a secret.”

“You’re familiar.”

“I suppose I would be.”

“Who are you?”

“Silly.” She turned then, pink dress shifting underneath a red jacket. She had been naked, he had thought, but perhaps she had been dressed the entire time. “I just told you it’s a secret.”

“That’s not fair.”

A laugh like bells sounded through the meadow. The noise was soft, gentle. It made him a little sleepy.

“It’s fair. You don’t need my name.”

“Then tell me where I am.”

But there was no panic in his voice. Simply… curiosity.

“I don’t know. This is your head, not mine.”

There are no flowers. No grass. No blue sky. It’s black. Everything. There’s a cold sort of pressure lurking in the shadows, but the girl in pink seems to dispel all of that. She’s radiating warmth.

“This is your subconscious. I’m just visiting.”

“Is this a dream?”

A small shrug, and her smile fell. He missed it as soon as soon as the corners of her mouth dip. It feels colder without that smile.

“No. This is your afterlife.”

“Afterlife?”

“You’re… dead.”

She said it like a doctor informing a patient’s mother that they had passed during the night. So much grief. So much sympathy. And yet, he felt and feels nothing of the sort.

“I know that.”

“Then you also know how you died, don’t you?”

A pause. The cold pressure was building, forcing his body to tense.

“No.”

“Do you know who you are?”

“No.”

She’s right in front of him, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek. She’s so short, so small, and yet her presence is something of overwhelming power.

“That’s okay.” Her fingers brushed against his bangs, pushing them out of his face. “I’m here to help.”

The darkness was white. The coldness lessened.

“Who are you?”

Her hand pulled back, index finger jabbing him in the chest. He was still naked.

“I can’t tell you that yet.”

“Why not?”

Her finger flicked upwards, tapping him on the chin. He’s wearing black amidst the field of yellow and green.

“You have to figure that out yourself.”

“How can I know who you are if I don’t know myself?”

Her hands are on his cheek again. So warm, so soft. She smells of earth. He finds a gloved hand grabbing at the bare one on his cheek. She smiles and holds his hand as if he’s a child.

“You’re smart. You can figure it out.”

They’re in a church, seated on a pew. The church is in tatters—It needs a lot of work. There are flowers blooming where the altar should be.

“If this is my head, why is everything unfamiliar?”

“Not all of these images are yours. Most are mine. Your mind is too… dark. It’s not suited for a place of peace.”

“I don’t belong?”

The church is a playground. There’s a cart with flowers in it nearby. They’re seated on the swings.

“You do now. You weren’t before, but I helped you.”

“How?”

It smells of toxic fumes and darkness.

“I pulled out what was corrupting you. It’s still there, a little bit, but it’s just in remnants now.”

“What was corrupting me?”

The field again. Her finger is before her lips once more. Her hand had left his at some point. Or had he been holding it at all? He didn't know. He doesn't know.

“I can’t say that here. Saying it might bring it out.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what you think.”

The black grows. He trembles. The woman is gone, but her voice is strong.

“You have to resist it.”

“How?”

“Reach out to me.”

His hands reached, blindly. Everything is black. He cannot see. His own arms are gone. Where is he?

"Reach farther."

And then his bare feet pressed into tall grass, toes digging into soft soil as his eyes opened to take in the area around him. No bath, no boat, just flowers. An endless field of yellow flowers blooming amongst green grasses to contrast the blueness of the sky. The wind was warm and fragrant, caressing the dry skin that the darkness had once touched. He feels as if he is merely floating here, his weight so light and his shoulders so free. And yet… he had no desire to move.

“It’s been a long time.”

His hands were holding those of the woman in pink, her smile larger and green eyes bright.

“I didn’t think you would make it back.”

“Who are you?”

Deja-vu? Or is this new? He can’t tell. Time is an illusion. Time was an illusion.

A smirk and a squeeze of his hands. “A secret.”

“Tell me.”

“I can give you a hint.”

“Please.”

She stepped back. Steps away. Their hands separate. Her hands folded before her chest, head bowing as if in prayer. They were within a cave, her on a pedestal and him standing before her.

Blood. He could smell it before he saw it, blooming on her dress around her midsection from an invisible wound. He started forward in alarm, but his body won’t move, and she looks up and smiles at him. But his memory fills in the blank. When she fell, a sword through her. Watching her slump to the floor as if it were a dream. Hearing cries of anguish of those around her. She was gone, just like that. The last Cetra, whose dying wish was to cast Holy against an incoming Meteor. The sacrificial lamb, offering herself to a lion with bloodied claws.

But she’s smiling, blood trailing from her lips as she speaks.

“Do you remember, Sephiroth?”

There is no cave. No water. No blood. It’s black. Everything. There’s a cold sort of pressure lurking in the shadows, and the girl in pink is gone.

“Resist it.”

But the black is strong. It’s whispering to him.

_Come back. I love you. My son, my son, my son. Come to me. I loved you. I protected you. Come back._

“Resist, Sephiroth.”

_Kill her. Kill them all. Destroy it. Destroy the Planet. Rule the galaxies. Become one with me. My son, my son…_

“Sephiroth.”

The cold surged, wrapping around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. But he fought, inhaled, closed his eyes, _pushed_ —

And then his bare feet pressed into tall grass, toes digging into soft soil as his eyes opened to take in the area around him. No dark, no voice, just flowers. An endless field of yellow flowers blooming amongst green grasses to contrast the blueness of the sky. The wind was warm and fragrant, caressing the dry skin that the darkness had once touched. He feels as if he is merely floating there, his weight so light and his shoulders so free. And yet… he has no desire to move.

“It’s been a long time.”

The air changed, warping and solidifying. There was a woman there, a dark braid down her spine, her pink-clad back to him. He didn’t remember when she had appeared, or who she was, and yet it seemed as if she had simply been there forever.

“It’s been too long since you’ve given in. You won’t give in now.”

“But I almost did.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But—“

“Were you always this childish?”

Pouting was the redhead’s job. Pouting when he denied an apple. Pouting when he got two points lower than the Silver Elite. Pouting when women didn’t fawn over him. Pouting when his sake was finished off by a brunet with a scratchy chin.

“No.”

“Then stop being so pouty. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m sorry.”

A laugh like bells sounded through the meadow. The noise was soft, gentle. It made him a little sleepy.

“Can I know your name now?”

The laugh morphed into a frown.

“You mean you really don’t remember me?”

“I do.”

The blood. How could he forget it? He can still smell it. It’s still on her dress.

“Then what’s my name?”

“Aeris.”

A shake of her head, hands cupping his face again.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Why did I kill you?”

A sad sort of smile, her hands sliding into his hair. She was on her tip-toes to do it, and he found himself bending down so she might reach easier.

“It overwhelmed you.”

“It?”

“I told you; I shouldn’t say the name. It’ll be back.”

“Her?”

“Hmm?”

Her hands leave, and he misses them instantly.

“It’s a woman. Her voice spoke to me in the dark. She told me—“

Those warm, earthy hands cover his mouth and he blinks like a fish.

“Don’t say it.”

He attempts to speak, but his words are muffled. He decides he likes the taste of her skin.

“You’re safe here. Just forget about it.”

Here, in the field of endless flowers, where his black leathers stick out so plainly. Except he’s not in leathers. He’s in a white shirt and jeans. Perfectly normal.

“Sephiroth?”

Her hands were removed, but before he could speak, her hands were in his hair, pulling his head down as her lips pressed against his. So soft, so gentle, so comforting. She tasted like earth and life. He isn’t sure what that tastes like. It tastes like her. She tasted like life.

He kisses back. Her hands tangle through his hair. The meadow is a church. They’re in the flowers of the altar. She’s in white. So is he.

“I never loved you.”

She laughs again, pulling back and adjusting her veil.

“I never loved you either.”

“So what—“

“This is _your_ mind, remember? I’m just changing a few things.”

He wants to kiss her again.

“Somewhere deep deep in here, you wanted a wife. You wanted someone to love you, didn’t you? You didn’t want to be a monster anymore.”

“That’s not—“

“It is true.”

The meadow is warm. Her dress is as pink as her cheeks.

“It isn’t.”

“You don’t have to deny anything while you’re here, Sephiroth. This is your mind. Your deepest desires.”

She kisses him again.

They’re standing in a lavish penthouse apartment.

“You wanted a wife and a beautiful home.”

The blood on her stomach is gone, replaced with a gentle bump.

“You wanted a family.”

They’re sitting on a bed, a baby between them, swaddled in soft cloth. It’s cooing quietly, having just woken up.

“You wanted to be normal.”

The blackness was cold.

“No. I could never have it. I should have never wanted it.”

_I could have given it to you, my son._

“No. No one could have. I was—I am a monster. Those were the figments of a drunken imagination. I know better than to dream for the unattainable.”

 _I could give you anything_.

“You’re lying. Not even God could give it to me.”

_You could be God._

“No.”

The meadow is warm. Her dress is as pink as her cheeks.

“You don’t have to deny anything while you’re here, Sephiroth. This is your mind. Your deepest desires.”

She kissed him.

He kisses back.

Her hands are on his back, nails digging in.

He’s naked. She’s naked. He’s thrusting.

“Sephiroth…!”

He’s sitting at a table with a steaming bowl of stew. She sits across from him, expectant. He tries it.

“Is it good?”

He’s sitting on the beach. There’s a redhead reading under an umbrella on his left and a brunet with a scratchy chin knee-deep and admiring the sunset with a bottle of Junon wine in his hands. He says something cliche about being First Class with his friends. The word 'friends' makes his skin crawl.

“No.”

He’s standing in the middle of a bonfire, burning from the outside in. She’s watching him, soot on her skirt.

“Why not?”

His head rests on feathers. Black ones. His shoulder aches.

“It’s too much.”

He’s standing within a labyrinth of caves, facing a giant crystal wall. He can see himself within, and a black orb is clutched in his fist.

“Then let it go.”

He’s strapped to a metal table, needles breaking his skin as a scalpel pushes through his chest.

“I can’t.”

He’s sitting on a leather couch, head in his hands, a paper burning in the fireplace that reads _Killed in Action_ and has a picture of the brunet with the scratchy chin.

“Yes you can.”

He’s driving his sword through a defenseless woman in pink.

“I can’t!”

He’s losing his mind.

“Yes you can.”

His body is moving without his approval, attacking a blond man who holds an honorable sword that does not belong to him.

“I—“

The meadow is warm.

“It’s been a long time.”

Her dress is as pink as her cheeks.

“Since what?”

Time is, was, and will be an illusion.

“Since you’ve given in.”

The meadow is, was, and will be warm.

"I belong?"

He has no desire to move. He has never had the desire to move. He will never have the desire to move away.

"Yes."

Her dress will always be as pink as her cheeks.


End file.
